All Shall Fade
by Afleet'32
Summary: Set five years after "Home is Behind, the World Ahead" closes. It tells the life of Adamanta Bolo and her friends as they live in the Shire, struggling to find themselves as everything they know has changed and Frodo is gone...
1. In which I (try to) learn to drive

**All Shall Fade**

**A Companion to _Home is Behind, The World Ahead_**

_It started out as a feeling, which then grew into a hope_

_Which then grew into a quiet thought which then grew into a quiet word_

_And then that word grew louder and louder, till it was a battle cry_

_I'll come back, when you call me. No need to say goodbye…_

_Just because everything's changing doesn't mean it's never been this way before_

_All you can do is try to know who your friends are, as you head off to the war_

_Pick a star on the dark horizon and follow the light_

_You'll come back, when it's over, no need to say goodbye_

_Now we're back to the beginning, it's just a feeling and no one knows yet_

_But just because they can't feel it too doesn't mean that you have to forget_

_Let your memories grow stronger and stronger till they're before your eyes_

_You'll come back, when they call you_

_No need to say goodbye_

-Lyrics from "The Call," by Regina Spektor

_9 April 0006, of the Fourth Age_

"Woah there—WOAH!" I called, pulling firmly on the reins. The two ponies harnessed in front of me—whose long reins I now held in my fists—zigzagged and sidestepped, slowly faltering but not stopping politely like I asked. The cart I sat in rattled, set off-balance by my fumbling commands.

Laughter erupted behind me, and I turned, irritated, to the hobbit lad leaning against the fence. His curly blond hair was drooping in his eyes. "Just face it, Mandy," he grinned, pipe in hand. "You'll never be a great driver."

I frowned. "You'll see, Meriadoc. Just give me some time to practice…I've almost got them stopped now…" I squeezed firmly on the reins, pulling back the slightest bit, remembering to keep my arms still rather than jerking my elbows and shoulders back. The horses halted, stamping and chewing their bits. I smiled at Merry and raised my brows. "See?"

He laughed. "Oh well, in that case, you've certainly proved me wrong…but just this once!" He waved goodbye and walked off down the road, just under the hill where Frodo Baggins used to live.

I shook my head. "Of course, just this once," I sighed, jumping down from the carriage and stroking the ponies' noses. Minas, my own light brown pony, blew softly into my face, and I patted his cheek, combing my fingers into his thick white mane. Faramir was Pippin's mount, and he had allowed me to use him to practice driving. I kissed Faramir's velvety nose and unharnessed both ponies, leading them down the road to the fields so they could turn out and eat. Before I closed the gate, Minas turned back to look at me, his ears pricked.

"Silly boy," I smiled. "You've done enough work for today." I gave his withers a pat and sent him on his way.

Truthfully, I was far from becoming a good driver, but I was certainly making progress. As far as I knew, I was probably the only hobbit lass in all the Shire interested in driving ponies—or even riding them, but considering the travels I expected to have in my life, I figured it'd be a useful skill for getting back and forth from the farther countries, mainly Bree. It wasn't uncommon that the lads and I would head off to Bree's village for some groceries or news from the outside. Big people didn't come to the Shire, so we had to make do. And considering the travels we had already partaken in, it was a relief to the rest of the Shirefolk when we stayed close to home.

I heard whispers often that they thought we had all changed (cracked, really) when we had adventures—strictly speaking, 'twas the reason hobbits never should go on adventures. And it was also the reason they were often glad we didn't go farther than Bree.

"They'll grow out of it," I heard Mr. Proudfoot belch one night at the Green Dragon. "Mark my words, they'll forget about adventuring and remember what's important: relatives, their homeland, and some farming to keep 'em busy."

Of course, Mr. Proudfoot had been drunk then, so he didn't realize that he was speaking in front of me, since I was waiting his table.

"It's good for them to be with their own kind," Tom Cotton added.

I shook my head in annoyance, my eyes rolling.

.:*:.

Six years previously, it had not been the fourth age.

Six years previously, our world of Middle Earth had been on the brink of extinction, but the realm of the Shire, though I loved it dearly, was completely closed-off from all the rest of the world, and so ignorant to the danger. But I could not say that the people of the Shire were ignorant without including myself and my dearest friends in that number. Frodo, Sam, Pippin, Merry, and I were the exception to all the hobbits in all the farthings of the Shire. Gandalf the Grey, the great wizard of our age (who was well-reknowned in the Shire for having sent Frodo's cousin Bilbo off on a grand adventure) made it known to us that a great threat was in our midst: a weapon of the enemy, and something that He sought dearly. We did not know it then, but Bilbo's golden ring, seen as a trinket by most others, would turn out to be the most important object and most sought thing in all the world. It was critical that it be destroyed, or risk the Dark Lord Sauron-his spirit formed into an eye of fire-rising once more to conquer the free people of Middle Earth.

Frodo and Sam left at once with Gandalf, with Merry, Pippin and I following in confusion. We stumbled upon them by happy chance and made our way to Bree so that we might assist Frodo in his quest to meet Gandalf-but instead found ourselves with the ranger Strider instead, who led us to Rivendell, the second safe-place we needed to get the ring to. The agents of the enemy, the terrifying Black Riders, quested after us and suceeded in stabbing Frodo, a wound he carried for the rest of his days. Only by the healing powers of the elves was Frodo spared. We met him there, in Rivendell, after an elf took Frodo on her swift horse and we followed along with Strider. In Rivendell a secret council was held, which would hold the fate of our world: the only solution, we overheard, was to destroy the Ring and therefore evil altogether. There was some question as to who would be appointed this dangerous task-the Ring had the powers to corrupt. It would do anything to tempt its bearer to place it on his finger, and draw the enemy close. It wanted Sauron to take it back, and to be reunited and restored with its dark Master. These were politics I knew not then, as I was young and only cared that Frodo was alive, and that I wanted to stay by his side. Frodo, in order to keep the men of the council at peace, offered himself as a Ringbearer, still ignorant of the suffering he would endure by the end. By the end, we'd all realized the pain that we could never have known when we made our decision to go on the quest.

Ten companions joined together and were named the Fellowship of the Ring- friends and protectors of the Ringbearer. I was among these, as were Merry, Pippin, and Sam, Frodo, Strider (who was revealed as Aragorn, the lost heir to the King of Gondor), Boromir, Gimli (a dwarf), and Legolas (an elf). And of course, there was Gandalf. Together we trekked over the snowy Misty Mountains and steered our course beneath the mountain into the Mines of Moria- here, Gandalf fell to his doom battling an ancient demon, and we continued on to the Woods of Lothlorien. We parted ways here and recieved gifts from the Lady of the Wood, the ancient elf Galadriel. We rode the Great River Anduin to the Falls of Rauros and then fell into battle against a pack of Uruk-kai sent from Isengard. Saruman, the original White Wizard, turned to darkness and to Mordor as he schemed alongside the Eye. Boromir died protecting Merry, Pippin, and I, after we had distracted the pack so Frodo could escape undetected. He had to go unto his task himself, so we stayed behind. As Boromir fell, we were captured by the beasts and carried across the plains and treated very cruelly. We made a narrow escape, which was good for us, for we would have been brought into the black tower of Isengard and tortured. We found ourselves in the Fangorn Forest and awoke the Ents, the tree-guardians who were not easily roused, but once angered, could create terrible devastation: and so with the Ents we destroyed the black pits of Isengard where Saruman was creating forges and an army of Uruk-kai. There, we were reunited with our Fellowship, Saruman was killed, and we rode for the capital of the Horse-Realm Rohan: Edoras.

One cheerful night was displaced by horror, as Pippin took a glimpse into a seeing-stone called the Palantir, which had originally been Saruman's, and since he had been using it to communicate with Sauron, Pippin too found himself face-to-face with our Enemy. Gandalf took the both of us with him to the White City, Minas Tirith, which Pippin had seen under siege- this was the enemy's plan. There, we met the Steward Denethor, Boromir's father, distraught and half-mad, and Pippin made us his servants, as Boromir had died to save us. Despite Denethor's opposition, Pippin and I climbed to the highest tower of the city and lit the beacons, signaling Rohan to come and aid us in battle. Mordor's beasts were already on their way, laying siege and utterly destroying the neighboring city of Osgiliath. Pippin and I, while Denethor's son battled in Osgiliath, served his table and sang for him. The orcs utterly destroyed every man in Osgiliath and Faramir returned half-dead. Denethor, in his madness, believed his sons both dead while orcs began the siege of Minas Tirith. Ignoring his orders to flee, Gandalf organized the soldiers and fought back. Pippin and I ran to his aid, but Gandalf sent Pippin back, for Pippin was too dazed to fight. He kept me by his side, however, carrying the standard so the soldiers would have hope. Pippin and I helped save Faramir from his father's madness-and Denethor met his end. Rohan finally arrived, and the battle continued, until it seemed all would be lost. Then, Aragorn and an army of ghost soldiers arrived to cleanse the city of the orcs and to repay their oath to an ancient king when they had fled from battle.

Merry was found among the injured, and taken to the Houses of the Healing while the others planned a way to distract Sauron from Frodo's task. The idea was simply to enrage him and to stop him from suspecting that the hobbit so close to destroying him even existed. We left Minas Tirith and journeyed to the Black Gate, the entrance to Mordor, where another great battle was fought. Aragorn led us, and we fought simply for Frodo, and to give him a chance. As we battled numberless orcs and trolls, we suddenly discovered something was happening-the great Eye was falling, his tower blasted into many pieces, and the mountain of Doom, where the Ring was destroyed, exploded. Thinking Frodo dead, we wept. I was injured, and was unable to stay conscious. When I awoke, I was able to look upon Sam and Frodo again, who I had not seen since leaving them at Amon Hen. Aragorn was had his coronation at last, named as King of Gondor. We left with our ponies, a gift from the great king, and finally turned our sights upon the Shire.

These were the events I lived in mind. The fourth age began, after the destruction of Sauron, and the great journey that my friends and I had taken would always stay with me. Throughout the time I was back in the Shire, even years later, I still felt like I was torn in two- first, I was a hobbit of the Shire, and second, a great warrior in the rest of the world. Hobbits, by nature, prefer to stay home and disapprove of anything unexpected, particularly adventures. Anything unusual or uncomfortable meant that it would be seen as "indecent." As a girl, I was subject to many more insults and jabs than the others, but I took them with a head held high. I knew, in my heart, that despite all that happened, I would not regret my decision to go. In my mind, I was free-I had freed myself, and though it was frowned upon, I thought I was better off than the hobbits who would never see anything outside their own doorstep.

There was nothing shameful to me about taking steps into a new world.

I knew my friends felt the same as me-we all lived together in Bag End for the first year or so, until Sam was married to his long-love, Rosie, and a good friend of mine. She tried often to remind me of being "hobbitish," and I did my best to politely rebuff her. Merry, Pippin, and I would sword-fight together, or ride horses, while the rest of the Shire wagged their fingers and heads at us, for we should have been out farming and drinking merrily (in the boys' case) or doing housework and gossiping (in my case). But we couldn't live in the world of normal hobbits anymore-we had been changed, despite efforts to _change us back_.

Rosie bore two children to Sam during that year we were finally home, and Bilbo was asked to board a ship that would leave Middle-Earth for good...it was considered a high honor, the honor that Ringbearers and elves were bestowed. Unbeknown to the rest of us, Sam and Merry and Pippin and I, Frodo too was asked to accompany the ship...and he accepted. The Shire could no longer be his home; he had suffered too much during the journey. He would never lead a normal life, though the rest of us still had a chance...

Bag End was left empty and cold. Pippin and Merry stayed, for a time, but after Pippin's near-fatal fever, and Aragorn's single visit, the boys returned to their own homes. Sam inherited Bag End from Frodo, and finally found the courage to move into the exquisite hobbit-hole with Rosie and their children. They had four, now, and a fifth was on the way- Elanor was the eldest girl, followed by Frodo, Rose, and Merry. Merry was barely a few weeks old. I lived with the Gamgees as well, since I was originally to be adopted by Bilbo, but he was gone. I had lived with the Cottons for a time following my father's death, and so I was welcome in the Gamgee household. It was a merry place, and always bustling, as would be expected with four little children who were loud and constantly needed something. If anything, the couple was happy for the extra pair of hands, and while I was surely old enough to care for myself, it was unseemly for an unmarried young lass to live alone and support herself. And so, I stayed, for the time being.

.:*:.

It was April 9, 0006 of the fourth age.

The sun was shining forth, and I watched the two ponies kick up their hooves and trot the field. Minas dropped his head to snort, and I was reminded instantly of the afternoon Merry, Pippin, and I stole into a farmer's field and rode _his _ponies, before escaping into the vegetable patch and gathering spoils to bring to Bilbo's great eleventy-first birthday, the very night he disappeared and all our adventures began.

I sighed, letting the breeze blow my auburn curls into my face. I knew my face was terribly freckled. It was unfashionably so. I leaned against the fence of the pasture, my chin in my hands and my legs crossed. I was wearing one of Frodo's old white shirts, suspenders and brown pants that reached halfway down my calves. I had given up gowns after I had dressed in Gondor's armor-pants left me free to run, climb, and ride horses astride. Gowns might have been beautiful...but. There was no need for me to look beautiful when I already had a reputation that proceeded me.

I sighed once more, letting my thoughts once again drift into that golden afternoon with Merry and Pippin, that carefree afternoon and that splendid party, and everything that came after... the memories flooded my eyes and I was overcome with sorrow. I could not stop the tears from falling, for everything that happened and those the journey allowed me to meet.

It was like this, most days. I felt like this.


	2. In which I learn how babies are made

I learn how babies are made and insult my friends for growing up

I took a longer path through the Shire, away from Bag End and from the pasture. I walked underneath a canopy of trees and between the bushes that dotted the landscape. It was the only stretch of path that didn't open up into flat farmland where you saw nothing but the bustling of the Shirefolk. It was here, in these woods, that I could get the privacy and solace that I so desperately scrounged for every day. Life in the Shire was a bustle of activity and I don't believe any hobbit has ever found the desire to just sit and think deeply about things. More often than not, though hobbits are peace-loving folk, the peace they so desire comes from a long day of gardening, and retiring to some pub to relax with other lads and lasses over a mug of ale.

It is not like a hobbit to be alone. Most families are large and there are always things to be done. I knew that firsthand from living with Rosie and her siblings first, then her children. I didn't mind helping, but it was always a relief to get out of scrubbing pots and rocking and feeding restless babies off to nap, while Rosie collapsed into a chair and Sam worked in the garden. The toddlers cried and fought with each other, or pulled at my skirt and wanted to play. Rosie would be trying to juggle her babies, some still suckling, as well as stick a bottle in one of them, who would promptly spit up on her gown, just in time for another little one to wake up in his crib and cry for someone to get him. And here she was again, pregnant, trying to do everything as well as take care to protect the little one growing inside her.

I tried to make some excuse to be unavailable to help Rosie birth her babies. Once was enough for me. It seemed like an eternity before Rosie was back to her calm demeanor; all during the birthing I was terrified that she'd lost her mind amongst the mindless screaming and thrashing. There was so much blood. I wasn't one to shy away from blood like most lasses, but I found myself in a fog, unable to do much but watch in horror.

This was how I imagined that Pippin, Merry, and I would one day be treated when the enemy of the Fellowship finally caught up with us. I imagined that Rosie was me, in Isengard, or some other dark tower, being tortured for information, while strangers stood over and watched. But if I told that to Rosie, or the midwife, or any of the other girls who cooed and wiped Rosie's forehead, I would be snapped at and told I was silly, that I should make myself useful.

Walking along the path, I kicked a little stone. I had already been cornered unexpectedly by Rosie a couple years ago, and while she balanced a baby on her hip she demanded to know what I knew of men and babies. I stammered during this conversation, since I hadn't learned anything at all except that women and men were not to mix, particularly not at dark, and not alone, because we were different and had privacies.

"Most girls your age will be betrothed soon," Rosie declared. "You ought to know what secrets we women keep from young girls until it is time you understood your duty as a wife. Once you are married, your priorities are no longer for your well being, but for your husband, and you will do everything you can to keep him comfortable and happy. Part of this is housewifery and other such duties, but the other half is bearing his children."

I peered up at Rosie from underneath my eyelashes. She was so direct with me, so blunt. Here was my purpose in life, at last: hopes and dreams shattered. I was to do nothing but wait hand and foot like a servant, while my husband was free to do what he pleased, and then come home to me and…what? Do whatever it was that made babies. Well, lucky for me, Rosie was there to explain.

"Don't blush, so, Adamanta," she snapped. "It's immature."

And thus it was laid before me, what I must endure as my "duty" to my husband: to part my legs and endure whatever pain I must to ensure his pleasure, and then still to carry a baby for nine months, while I knew what lie ahead at the end of that road… but even then, my duty was to my husband, not myself.

I cringed while Rosie explained it to me, in bawd detail.

"You'd have to be a fool to allow any man to do that to you," I announced, thinking of the shame and pain I would have to feel, lying beneath a man while he entered me, and I was to do nothing but lie still and wait for it to be over…

"Adamanta! Every woman and wife in the history of this world has endured it." Rosie was blushing now, as she avoided talking about her experiences.

"You, at least, are in love," I said stubbornly. "I may not have that choice."

"It's what we must do," she said with a shrug. "You're a woman. You'll get used to it."

"I don't _want_ to get used to it," I said. "Anything that is done to _my_ body, I will ensure I have a say in it."

As I turned to stalk away and was blazing all over with frustration, Rosie called out to me.

"With the pain of making love, Adamanta, you will learn there is also the greatest pleasure you will ever know."

"Yeah… sure…" I muttered under my breath, before whisking out my journal and planning to ask questions of Merry and Pippin, to see what they knew of the art of making love.

.:*:.

When I asked, Merry laughed so hard he couldn't breathe and Pippin spit out his pipe, blushing furiously.

"What, lads?" I said, glaring at them. "It's not funny."

"It's funny because you're so confused!" Merry giggled.

"Well…shouldn't I be?" I looked from Merry to Pippin, who was fighting to stay composed.

"Mandy, we're adults now. So…I'm surprised you haven't been educated in the art of bodily exposure!"

"_Merry!_"

"Well, it's true, isn't it? It's time to settle down and find your bonny lad and sneak off into the heather for some quality time kissing, giggling and romping."

"_Merry_…"

"Don't tell me—Mandy, that you, that you—" at this point, Merry burst off into a new fireworks display of giggles. "That you don't want a fine young hobbit gentleman to touch your braids and whisper in your ear during a party that you are the most lovely creature he has ever seen, and that he has been eyeing you for years, and that all he wants to do most of all in the world is for you to take his hand and pledge to be his, and his alone…"

"Merry, that's not going to happen," I said, blushing furiously.

"…and he will flutter his eyelashes at you and devilishly undo your braids to stroke your curls, steal kisses in the night from your smooth, creamy skin, touching you in just a way so you'll beg him never to stop, forget your virtue, and he'll comment that he desires you so that he'll forget about the nonsense with the Lord and the Ring and your part in all of that if only you'll relieve him of his heartache by lifting your skirt just a little higher!"

"Sounds like you know everything," I snorted. "Tell me, Merry, have you been gallivanting in just the way you've described?"  
Merry's face instantly hardened. "I will never breathe a word to _you_ about it," he said, poking me sharply in the chest bone. "And if you're wise, you'll never breathe a word about it either."

"How about you, Pippin?" I said harshly. "Got a lady friend you'd like to pluck? Or have you already taken it upon yourself to abandon every honor the world has given us in exchange for a little sweat and some sticky stuff out of your little twig?"

Pippin blushed, glaring at me. "Go eat rotten mushrooms, Mandy," he said. "No—on second thought, why don't you fall onto your own sword? Being rude as you are. It'll be the only sticking you'll ever get!"

"It's the only sticking I want!" I said haughtily. "At least it'll earn me a thousand years or more of honor, rather than a few moments of pleasure!"

"Oh that's our darling dearest lady Mandy," Merry cooed cruelly. "She gets her pleasure from imagining herself tied up in Barad-Dûr or Isengard!"

I blanched. "That's—that's—Merry, you better shut your mouth right away."

"Why? Can't take some of your own medicine? Why don't you enjoy your time daydreaming about being tortured while Pippin and I grow into sensible adults."

I lifted my chin.

"And why don't you try wearing dresses for once?" Merry shot back, saluted me, and then pushed Pippin with him into the woods. "I liked you better feminine."


	3. In which the world becomes a map

I took off with Minas, galloping, heading east toward the Brandywine and Buckland, which even though was Merry's home was the farthest I could get from Hobbiton. I knew that if I continued on the eastern road, I'd pass by Bucklebury and the Old Forest, the Barrow-Downs and eventually make my way to Bree and then Weathertop.

When I got to the river though, I reined Minas in. He reared and stamped his furry hooves, tossing his thick pony's mane. He kept sidestepping, anxious because I was anxious. I stared at the slow-moving thick, gray water, pondering where I could go. The Old Forest was a dark gray blur beyond the river, and I had no intention of crossing it into the extended hobbit-inhabited areas of Buckland, where Frodo was from.

Really, I had no pack—no food or clothes. I had nothing I could use, yet the only thing I wanted to do was to take off and never look back, despite pining for the Shire the entire length of the journey to destroy the One Ring.

But I was also thinking of the fact that hobbits couldn't swim.

Long ago, Frodo's father, Drogo, and his wife drowned in a boating accident. Sometimes I wondered if Gollum had something to do with it, or some other sorcery associated with the One. Either way, I shivered anytime I got near water. I made a mental note to somehow find someone to teach me not to be afraid—I needed to conquer the fear. Thinking of this calmed the fire that had risen in me when I fought with Merry and Pippin. They were my only true companions and I drove them away.

Miserably, I turned away from the river, heading for home, my eyes on the rolling hills and farmlands and pubs so unknown to the outside world.

I missed Frodo. He would have understood my qualms and would have been fair to each side of the argument.

I turned back to the river as I trotted on Minas' back, posting with each stride and taking in the memories of the saddle and bridle and pony, which came from Minas Tirith, and memories of myself defending the city, dubbing the pony its name…

There.

I had to rein Minas in a second time, adding to the pony's agitation, but as I gazed across the Shire, I realized that Frodo and I had one thing in common: there was no going back for either of us. Whether for good or for bad, I had to leave. I could not compromise.

There was, however, a future for me, and that was by bringing good luck upon myself and traveling the finally free realms of Middle Earth myself. I could take a long journey to Minas Tirith, and take up apprenticeship there. Perhaps I could become a captain of the guard, and serve King Elessar, and practice swordsmanship in peace. I could wear the black and silver colors of the Citadel, free from Denethor and free to do as I pleased. I could live in a place where I would be justly honored and known, and spend my days studying the scripts of old—the scholarly libraries where King Isildur himself recorded his time with the One.

Whooping, I pushed Minas into a gallop, unsure of whether I was headed home to Bag End for supper or if I was going to take a few more laps around the Shire's outskirts, but one thing was certain—the Shire was too small for me now.

Instead of riding straight back to Hobbiton by the main road, I trotted the Southwestern roads toward the Marish and the Green Hill country that lay between the Brandywine and Tuckborough, where the Took clan lived. I passed by the small forest called the Woody End, skirting along the northern edge, taking note of the hobbits who glanced up and did not know me. Crossing over the Green Hills, I paused to gaze left over my shoulder, where the South Farthing expanded in fields and rolling hills flanked by distant small mountains. If I were to continue south, I'd have found myself crossing the Brandywine where it snaked like a backwards C beneath the South Farthing, and could choose to continue a westerly route to the sea or to cross Greyflood if I chose to head in a Southeastern direction.

I pictured the trek in my mind and followed with a finger, closing my eyes for a moment and opening them again to the vast expanse of wood and plains before me. If I were to follow more east than south, I would end up at the Misty Mountains—between Moria's gate and Dunland, which flanked the western border of the Misty Mountains, and come across the Old South Road—nicknamed Greenway by those in Bree, for it met up with Bree in the North and was seldom used anymore. The road had become overgrown and green.

Thinking of the Greenway sorrowed me. I hastened to imagine the men of old using such a great roadway, following it after a morning's brew in the very old city of Bree. Traveling with the One Ring required more immediate worries than appreciating history and legend, particularly the foundations of Bree-land, the oldest colony of men in all of Middle Earth. From Bree, two Fallohides set out and founded the Shire.

The Shire-folk were ignorant of such things. They did not care for the adventures of men and elves. The only hobbits that I knew could communicate in Elvish were Frodo and Bilbo, but only because they took an interest in learning that tongue, and not because it was taught to them.

I continued staring off. If I met up with the Greenway, I could follow it south to the Gap of Rohan, which was the plain between the end of the Misty Mountain chain and the White Mountains. The two chains of mountains formed a little L, and the crevasse held the plains of Rohan, and to the South, Gondor. Fangorn forest was in the north. Isengard, and the black spike of Orthanc, resided at the end of the Misty Mountains above the Gap.

I thought for a moment, yearning for Minas Tirith, but I realized I had never been to the North. Sometime, when Rosie was out, I would have to search through Bilbo's library and find maps of what lay in the north.

I closed my eyes.

Of course, I could always head south to Minas Tirith and ask Elessar.

Or, I could also head south to Minas Tirith and head north toward Mirkwood, following the eastern track of the Anduin in order to avoid the Dead Marshes, Emyn Muil and what once was the Black Gate. I could pass by Loríen—now faded and deserted, if it existed at all—and pass by the lands I had not seen in many years. I could visit the wood near Amon Hen where Boromir had fallen.

So many possibilities.

But instead of hopeful, I felt sorrowed. I felt a weight settle on my shoulders as the humid dark dusk settled over the Shire, not unlike the day that we had run from Black Riders near Maggot's farm.

I turned Minas completely around to head north, to Hobbiton, to home.


	4. Plans change and old friends change

Unfortunately for me, my journey didn't begin that day. I turned Minas out in the fields, and since it was getting misty I stored his somewhat damp saddle, pad and bridle in the small shed beside the fence. Along with the tack I kept a gown, which I changed each day so that I could placate Rosie. I slipped it on—a soft dark red gown and corset—in the bushes and sprinted down the shortcut home to Bag End.

I climbed the flagstones that wound among the garden up to the big green door. Like every day, I stooped down to finger the faint rune-mark a that Gandalf had carved long ago when he asked Bilbo to accompany him on an adventure. Though Bilbo had angrily painted over the scratch, the indentation was still there, and my heart skipped as I missed Gandalf.

Inside, Rosie was holding the infant Rose in the kitchen, feeding her while she watched a pot boil. Frodo, who was not yet three, sat playing with a puzzle and Elanor, who was born in 3021 during the Third Age, was reading a book.

"Where have you been?" Rosie asked, staring at me suspiciously but not yet angry.

"Oh, you know, I just took a long ride with Minas down to Buckland," I said. "I stayed on the road. Don't worry."

"Well. Merry and Pippin were back ages ago. Sam saw them down at the Green Dragon and wondered why you had split off."

I blushed, unsure of how to answer. "They wanted to head back. I didn't."

"I don't like it when you wander off by yourself, Adamanta," Rosie said, as she had a million times before. "When I was young, I had a father and four brothers to keep watch on me, as well as the entire Gamgee family. You're lucky you don't have to be chaperoned as much as all that. If you are going to be out with Merry and Pippin, be sure that they don't just leave you by yourself."

"Rosie…" I said.

"That's my word," she said. "I could keep you here, in the house, if I wished, but I don't wish to. Now, cut up the green beans and turnips for dinner, please." As she fed baby Rose, her breasts white and engorged, she seemed to visibly relax, and hummed to Rose while she rubbed her not-yet-swollen belly, which she had already decided to name Merry if it was a boy and Primrose if it was a girl.

Without another word, I walked to the table and began to cut the vegetables like she said.

The days were similar after that. The months passed without incident. The chill springs warmed into the Shire summers I so loved—the heavy warm rains in the evening and long days of golden sun that lit the crops and grasses with sunlight. I instantly remembered Lothloríen, and the golden flower that Rosie's eldest was named for: Elanor, which in the Elvish tongue means 'star sun.'

"Adamanta, feed the baby please." I would hold Rose, who was growing sturdier and heavier the more milk we pumped into her, and hold a glass bottle with a rubber nipple to her tiny red lips. Her little hands, which reminded me of toads and felt like soft sponges, grasped mine or pulled my curls as I held her bottle. The feedings took a long time—almost 45 minutes, and I was aching all over once I was done. However, I was thankful that I didn't have to spend 45 minutes with the babe's suction mouth ripping at my breasts.

Frodo was very small and sickly. He was quick, though—he was fast at crawling and I always had to remember to keep the front door closed, because little Frodo did not know boundaries. Elanor, on the other hand, was tall and fair and serious, and Sam often called her his 'elf-maid,' as did many other hobbits in the Shire. The term was not misplaced. She was willowy and had rippling gold hair, and her features were softer and more graceful than most hobbits' or humans'. She often remarked that she wanted to visit distant lands, but was also remarkably ladylike.

Thanks to Rosie's need, I stayed close to home.

"Adamanta, prepare the stew please? There are some onions and potatoes in the pantry."

"Adamanta, tenderize and salt this beef for me. I have to put Frodo down to nap."

"Adamanta, please clear the tables and wash them."

"I need this basket of laundry hung outside while I feed Rose."

"There are some weeds that need pulling out in the garden, and the dead stalks need to be dug up before we can replant."

"Adamanta, the windows are grimy from the long winter. The neighbors will notice."

"Adamanta, the floors have mud streaking the tile."

"Can you pick some peas for supper, please?"

"I would like you to trim these flowers and arrange them in a basket for the Gaffer."

"Entertain Frodo for a time while I trim the chicken."

"The beds need to be freshened. Change the linens and shake out the quilts."

And so it went. Throughout May, June, July and August I swept the deepest corners of Bag End and wiped down cobwebs, opened all the windows for a fresh start after the deep winter and dusted the curtains and woodwork. The door was repainted, the flagstones polished, the fence whitewashed, and the garden meticulously ordered. When things weren't being done for others' eyes, I was doing them for Rosie's: the food pantry had to be organized and restocked. I was out in the fields weeding and picking the best vegetables, or going to market "in my best gown" in order to get the freshest foods available "for the children." I was trimming the fat off of chicken, plucking still-warm eggs from under hens, and waiting for the pot to boil. I was fetching Rosie a cup of tea or milk. I was churning cream into butter and whipping up batter for cakes. I was changing the curtains, mending hems, cleaning up Frodo's toys and un-cluttering the parlor. Trunks were organized. New gowns were made. Old gowns were carefully dismantled and turned into gowns for Elanor and little Rose.

Rosie wanted me to stroll through Hobbiton and make my mark as a young lady: I was to wear a tight corset and ruffled sleeves over a wide-hipped gown, emphasize my smooth skin and fair complexion with a wide-brimmed straw hat, and exercise femininity with a thick basket perched over my elbow and resting at my hip.

The hat, complete with a pale maroon ribbon, showed off my sharp chin and nose and dark curls. I didn't mind it for awhile, but once I realized what she was up to, I stopped preening and started scowling again.

There were suppers, lunches, tea times, baby feedings, breakfasts and desserts to prepare. There were always callers on the babies, and Rosie would either usher me out to prepare some meal or keep the children quiet. Or, goodness forbid, she would have me dress up and mind my best hobbit behavior while she droned with a Mrs. Bracegirdle or some Boffin or Hayward or Bolger over tea about babies and the consistency of milk and naptimes.

Slowly, the routines of picking leeks and carrots for supper replaced my tendency to write, paint, and stay wholly Adamanta Bolo, protector of the Shire and Guard of the Citadel. I tried to find time to groom Minas to perfection as well as exercise him, but I simply started to abandon him. Sometimes I asked Merry and Pippin as a favor, but they often had their own chores in their own homes. Minas' penny-copper coat dulled and his furry hooves became matted and dirty. His fluffy white mane straggled and tangled. His white blaze was lost in dirt. His toned muscles slackened and he became more restless and less tame.

There was simply no time to be had. Besides, Rosie scoffed at the idea that exercise was necessary—long walks were the absolute stretch of the imagination. Children were free to run and swim, but hikes and long rides were unheard of in young ladies.

Merry and Pippin were cold toward me for awhile, but forgave me when I complained about being cooped up in the house. I noticed, however, that their pluckiness had begun to fade—they were both less rowdy and more formal than before. Pippin was preparing to grow into his own as the Thain of Tuckborough, and Merry was starting to attract ladies—they both dressed more crisply, stood straighter, and, worst of all, became more arrogant. While our argument had faded, the unspoken words still hung between us like a thick blanket, and neither of our parties wanted to push it aside.

I was utterly alone.

My sword, belt, and armor was carefully tucked away into the bottom of my trunk. I did not wish to do it. Rosie did not ask me to. But I simply had no use for it at the moment, and looking at it made me feel much guilt.

"What would you have me do?" I sometimes whispered, peeking into my trunk and holding my Gondorian helmet aloft. "I have duties here. Rosie needs me."

_Just Run, _my helmet often responded. _Just go. Who's going to stop you?_

The truth was, no one could really stop me. If I decided to saddle Minas early in the morning and ride hard, no one could follow. And who would, really? Who would care?

Rosie had her babies.

But it would break her heart.

I tucked my helmet away, thinking each time that it was for good, and each day of that summer my heart stooped lower, and my dreams of faraway journeys faded.

If this was to be my future, I had grown good at it: I could clean a house efficiently and had learned to take care of babies. I had even begun to enjoy the task, simply because I could work hard and be rewarded.

What would I do, if I left? Would I discover some long-forgotten piece of lore, like the One Ring, and take it upon myself to go on a long journey and fight in wars?

The truth was that there was no reward for traveling in faraway lands. There was nothing in that path but selfishness. There were no wars to fight. It was stupid to dream.

I tucked my dreams away in my chest, along with all that was left of me.

I was gone.


End file.
